


All That Glitters

by themusicofmysoul



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-04 11:20:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11554128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themusicofmysoul/pseuds/themusicofmysoul
Summary: Vaela Ceyoven should have minded her sister's advice, even on a simple trip to the market:  All that glitters is certainly not gold.





	All That Glitters

It had been a mistake to approach the weapons vendor.  Vaela knew it long before her feet carried her to the cool, shaded corner of the market.  Her sister had warned her against any frivolous purchases, they needed to tighten their budget, at least until their father’s arm healed.

But those  _daggers_.

The blades themselves were pristine, the very tip slightly curved and the iron itself so carefully polished that Vaela could have used it as a mirror, but it was the hilts that drew her gaze to the small, canopied table on the edge of the market.  Small, blood red rubies lined the handle, leading up to the base of the pommel where a single, thumbnail sized emerald sphere laid.  They were an elegant pair, meant for the hands of assassins in the employ of royalty, or perhaps even on the belt of a prince, marching forth to fight in the name of his people, willing to risk even his own royal blood to defend their freedom.

But not for the dirty, calloused hands of a lowly wood elf.

Vaela straightened with a sigh, tucking a particularly unruly lock of her burgundy hair behind her pointed ear.  She could practically hear her sister’s shriek of horror if she came home with this prize:

“ _Gems are meant for rings and necklaces, not daggers!_ ”

Vaela couldn’t help the cringe that flickered across her face, her ears ringing at even the thought of her sister’s wrath.  She knew it would be a silly purchase, she had a pair of perfectly functional, plain, boring, non-jewel encrusted hunting daggers at home for practice, but it had nothing to do with function.  She wanted to feel elegant, unique,  _important_ , everything her lot in life said she wasn’t, even if it was all a lie, an illusion to fool the world into treating her like a prize to be won.

Allowing her gaze to drift from the elegant hilt back to the blade itself, she nearly jumped upon discovering a tall figure standing behind her, seemingly admiring the same pair of daggers.  A deep, amused chuckle filled her ears, causing a shiver to slither down her spine.

“I didn’t mean to startle you, my dear,” the stranger said.  “I just didn’t wish to disturb your browsing.  You have a fairly keen eye for the finer things, don’t you?”

Vaela tugged her satchel tighter to her side as she forced a polite laugh, watching the stranger carefully in the reflective surface of the blades.  “I suppose so.  Please, don’t let me keep you.  I was just leaving anyway.”  She made to step around the stranger, only for him to not so subtly step in her path.

“Not everyone possesses such a gift, you know,” he purred.  “There is such a fine line between quiet elegance and gaudy nonsense.  Few know where that line lies.”

A vague tingling sensation hovered at the tips of her fingers, her lips already forming the words for a simple disarming spell as she dared to look up at the man, only for the words to immediately vanish from her memory.  Had she not known any better, she would have sworn she was staring into the face of a revered high elf.  He was tall, at least a head and a half taller than her, with long, blond hair so light it seemed silver in the sunlight.  A silver circlet sat upon his head, crafted to resemble thin, entwining, leafless vines with a single bright blue gemstone set delicately in its center.Only the top portion of his hair was swept back in a modest ponytail, allowing the rest of it to flow freely, revealing a set of pointed, elven ears similar to her own.  His skin was pale, only serving to accentuate the black tattoos that ran over the bridge of his nose and across his cheeks, the simple design branching off in some places to form elegant swirls along his high cheekbones.  But what struck her most of all were his brilliant green eyes; such a vibrant and bright green that she wondered if the emeralds in those daggers she so desperately desired were little more than glass orbs.

A warm, graceful smile was painted on his lips.  A smile, she couldn’t help but notice, that did not quite reach those enchanting eyes.

Awkwardly, Vaela cleared her throat, ripping her gaze from his own, determined to focus on anything but the bizarrely dazzling stranger standing before her.  “Gifts like that are useful only to the rich and royal.  Among the common folk, emphasis is placed on functionality first and foremost.”

Great, she was parroting her parents.  Good to know that when backed into a corner she turned to the ever flowing wisdom of a pair of aging wood elves.

His smile merely widened before a soft ‘ _tsk, tsk_ ’ fell from his lips.  “Such a shame to waste such talent among those who could never appreciate it.”  He adjusted his fine, black cloak before sweeping into a deep bow, the cloak billowing out behind him in a swell of silken cloth.  Vaela couldn’t help the yelp that escaped her at his sudden movement.  

Perhaps she should have brought those boring daggers with her today.

“Pardon my manners.”  He looked up at her as he bowed, his bright green eyes seeming to shimmer briefly, before standing upright, a gloved hand extended toward her.  “It’s unlike me to take up a young lady’s time without first introducing myself.  Zaresh Malaedair.  It’s a pleasure.”  His hand remained before her, his gaze expectant.

Vaela hesitated.  Charming and handsome though he may be, that initial feeling of unease she had felt in her chest upon his sudden arrival had yet to fade.  Her grip on her satchel had not loosened, and still that familiar tingling sensation at her fingertips remained, her body ready to defend her should reason fail her.  

But those eyes…

She extended her hand, allowing him to take it in his own as she spoke, feeling almost as if she did not will it herself.  “Vaela.  Vaela Ceyoven.”

Zaresh hummed, raising her hand to his lips, allowing them to brush ever so lightly against her knuckles, his gaze never once leaving her own.  She was suddenly very aware of a rush of heat to her cheeks.  “Vaela.  A lovely name for a lovely maiden.”  He paused, his gaze flickering about her form, appraising her.  “It’s not very often one finds such a rich shade of red amongst the wood elves.”  He released her hand, his fingers drifting toward a lock of her hair.

With an abrupt clarity, Vaela slapped his hand away, taking a step back.  Her knees shook and her hand trembled, suddenly mindful of the weapons at her disposal in the booth behind her.  Should she need to, those ruby encrusted daggers could be embedded in his sternum before he could so much as blink.

To his credit, however, his hand dropped back to his side as his smile waned into a shameful frown.  And yet his eyes still did not seem to match that repentant expression.  “Oh, dear Vaela,”  Zaresh lamented.  “Forgive me.  I forget myself.”  He adjusted his cloak again, his arms hidden beneath the fine silk.  “I hope you will allow me to somehow remedy my misstep.  I don’t wish to allow this meeting to end on such a sour note.”

There was an subtle underscore to his words that she did not entirely trust.  It almost sounded...expected.  As if this outcome were the intended one.  As if he wanted a reason to extend this supposedly chance encounter.

Meeting his gaze, Vaela straightened her back, clenching her fist at her side so he would not see how she trembled.  With a polite smile of her own, she said, “That won’t be necessary, sir.  All is forgiven.”

“‘Sir?’” Zaresh quirked an eyebrow, shaking his head.  “Were all forgiven, you wouldn’t be so cold.  Names are used between friends, not indifferent niceties.  Come now, allow me to at least accompany you throughout the market.”  He shot her a dashing smile before adding, “Please.”

If she were being honest, Vaela wanted nothing more than to trust him.  He was charming, extraordinarily handsome, and had not laughed away her interest in pointlessly extravagant things.  He had shown a pointed interest in her, made her feel unique even in this bustling city of countless people of varying races.

But it was precisely that interest that left her wary.

Her smile wavered until it dipped into a slight frown.  Whether it was genuine or for show she was honestly unsure.  “I’m afraid I can’t.  My sister will be expecting me.  I really must get home.”

Zaresh sighed, his gaze falling toward the ground as he wilted, a hand reaching up to rub at the back of his neck sheepishly.  Still, he offered her an apologetic smile.  “I understand.  A young maiden’s duty is to her family, after all.  Please, excuse me.”

He turned to leave, finally freeing her from his strangely entrancing presence.  And yet she spoke up, a sudden fear taking hold that she would never again see the handsome elf if she didn’t, that she would never again feel important.  “Perhaps another day, then?”

He glanced back at her over his shoulder, charming smile firmly in place once again.  If she didn’t know any better, she would have sworn those wonderful green eyes that had entranced her so were now a light, Arctic blue.  But that would be silly.  They were clearly as green as the forests her family hailed from.

“You give me hope, dear Vaela.  Be careful not to squash it,” he chuckled, although it seemed to be a throatier, darker sound than before.  “Perhaps tomorrow the fates will allow us to meet again.”

 

* * *

  

_Such foolish creatures the females of the surface are._

Zaresh closed the heavy wooden door of his humble abode with a deep sigh, a dark smile splitting his features.  It was dark, with only thin streams of sunlight permeating the small gaps in the heavy curtains covering the windows.

Just like home.

Strolling forward, Zaresh shed his silken black cloak, draping it over the finely carved, high backed wooden chair that sat near the ornate mahogany writing desk.  He ran his fingers over the smooth, polished surface, the craftsmanship evident even through his leather gloves.

Fine things.  Treasures, even.  Priceless objects that were denied him in the Underdark.

He clenched his jaw, finding his reflection in the elaborate mirror hanging over the small fireplace.  Even in the dim lighting of his home, he could still make out his features in the gleaming surface of the mirror: pale, fair haired, and green eyed.  The classic qualities attributed to the most revered of elven kind.

With a scoff, Zaresh made his way toward the mirror, letting the glamor drop bit by bit with every step he took.  His hair turned from a fine, nearly silver, gold into a stark, snow white.  His pale skin darkened to a deep grey, making his expression difficult to discern in the faint light of his home.  The elegant, black tattoos upon his face turned white on his dark skin as his eyes at last returned to their natural state: a light, Artic blue that made the black of his pupils that much more evident.  Standing before the platinum framed mirror was the figure of a dark elf, far from his home in the Underdark.

But that was neither here nor there.  It had been some time since he had been banished from his home.  For a long while he had thought it a fate worse than the death he should have been given, but, as he soon realized, he was granted a freedom he never thought possible.

He could  _own_  things.

A chuckle reverberated in his chest as he pulled the velvet tie from his hair, allowing strands to fall freely around his face.  Perhaps his ownership would not stop at mere objects.

Zaresh thought back on the elven girl he met in the market.  Wood elves were hardly worth their weight in copper, and barely worth the effort to slaughter, but she had the most lovely head of hair, a red to rival that of the finest wine.  And her  _eyes_ , eyes that seem to shift between the green of a grassy meadow and the honey of a prosperous beehive.  She was a glittering gem amongst a vat of repulsive coal, and she would be his.  

Oh, if the fine maidens of the Underdark could only see him now.  They would positively  _seethe_  at the blasphemy he dabbled in.

He turned from the mirror, lighting the single candle that sat atop the writing desk with a wave of his hand, effectively shaking him from his reverie.  Daydreaming would accomplish nothing.  He had work to do.


End file.
